Hunting
by ZukiYuki
Summary: Sherlock/Jim, off series story about Sherlock and Jim in a similair senario at school. Smut in the later chapters xD


The world is mundanely boring, to a point at which Sherlock often marvelled how people didn't go insane. Your average conversation would get as exciting as discussing the latest break up on a TV show, and even then the event was only studied as far as whether they'd get back together, or who they'd end up with next, none of the actual event was analysed in any detail. Sherlock had, once, tried to sit through an episode of 'Holly oaks'. The result had led to two months of constant insanity where he tried to work out how people got amusement from it, especially when so many of the character details were off. At the age of thirteen, Sherlock had already begun to realise he was… abnormal. But as he would sit in class, listening and observing the dull lives led by his peers, he would also begin to realise that begin abnormal was so much more fun. He dropped his feeble attempts to understand and act like the abnormal and simply rose above it. Some people said it was arrogance, others simply described him as aloof. To himself though, Sherlock felt he was simply, different.

It was after two years of oddity and difference that the fifth teen year old Sherlock sat in class, intently reading through the textbook they'd been given one week ago.

"Turn to page 24 please." The teacher instructed as everyone else only started to get out their things. This was another thing which Sherlock marvelled at, it was so obvious, so inevitable that they would have to retrieve their lesson's equipment, yet most people left it to the last moment, wasting nearly two minutes of every lesson. Sherlock rolled his eyes discretely and flicked over to page two hundred and eight, continuing his studying. Exams were just over eleven weeks away, if he finished the text book this lesson, then reread it for the next elven weeks' worth of lessons, he should have no need to use up his free time. The teacher began guiding those around him through the pages he'd read two lessons ago, dictating what to do in a dull monotone. Again, boring.

"And this year pupils, lets at least try and come close to St. Abriel's scores." The teacher commented, sarcasm thick in his tone. Sherlock smiled, St. Abriel's was a rich school in the same area as Markey's Public school (the one he attended) and was known for its intelligence and criminal involvement. Several of the recent computer hackings and thefts had had some involvement with the school, and it was rumoured to of had influence in a recent murder down at the town hall. Sherlock loved that school for one simple, blissful reason. It made his life exciting. It motivated Sherlock to work hard in lessons and memorise the information within school to that when he got home, he could dedicate his free time to investigating. Crime was one of Sherlock's few interests, and he'd become aware recently that someone within St. Abriel had recently been organising a lot of the crimes. He'd found tale tale signs, the people caught all acted similarly; the crimes themselves were on a new level. Sherlock could only describe their careful designation and execution as elegant. Of course, he'd managed to solve all of them, he'd sent the police letters explaining his theories and was extremely pleased to see some of them acted upon. But now there was something even more exciting, a someone who Sherlock had yet to hunt down, a task which started that familiar adrenaline rush just by thinking about it.

Lessons. Breaks. Lessons. Bell. He was free again, buttoning up his collared black coat and brushing a loose curl out of his eyes, Sherlock swiftly walked himself back to the dormitory. Light on. Computer, files, newspaper clippings. That smile, the smile that always gave away when he was having too much fun. It was constantly playing on his lips as he mentally clipped together pieces of information. The most recent series of linked muggings fascinated Holmes, they were carried out to make it appear as if it had to be carried out by adults. But that beauty to them, that precision. Sherlock recognised the style. By the time darkness had fallen outside, Sherlock had realised the pattern. He glanced at his watch. He just had time. Working out the quickest route using the mental map in his mind, Sherlock leapt from his chair and sprinted downstairs, out the dorms. High street, strawberry lane, Oak road, Low lane, train tracks, City high street, fourth turn off right. Sherlock was panting by the time he skidded into the alley. Ah. He'd made a mistake.

Probably the worst mistake he'd ever made. He'd been too fascinated, so captivated by the clever little individual that had been running him round in circle for days that he hadn't stopped to realise the obvious, the excruciatingly blindingly obvious. He wasn't alone. In fact, judging by the four figures in front of him, all of which were burly and looked like pure muscle (probably no or little brains), his elegant target wasn't even there. But the adult slumped on the alleyway floor with blood down the side of his mouth was very real, and the four St. Abriel students stood around him were also, very, very real. Sherlock wasn't weak, but he wasn't even prepared to take on one of the teens stood in front of him.

"Evening, gentlemen." He greeted them, if you can't beat them, join them, or at least pretend to be one of them until you get the fuck out of there.

"Who?" grunted on of the apes.

"Ahh, I was sent just to check everything was going well." Sherlock whispered ambiguously, taking a step backwards.

"Who sent you?" demanded the ape nearest him. Ah, that was the question Sherlock hadn't been hoping for. Despite his deductions, he had yet to work out the name of the individual he was hunting.

"He's not one of ours Rob, look at his blazer, he's one of the Markey boys." Sniffed an ape, straightening his back. "Must of pieced together some things and decided to drop by."

"All alone? Poor thing, perhaps we should… bring him to join the party?" sneered the ape which was now leering in Sherlock's face. Sherlock, having alliances with some gangsters in the nearest city, translated that to mean 'let's take him to our leader', and since that was just the place he wanted to go, he had no reason to complain.

"Dangerous to do it while he's up, smart enough to figure this much out, he might be able to escape, Rob…" the ape trailed off, making the unspoken instruction quite clear enough.

"Can't I just… shut my eyes?" Sherlock suggested, his voice an octave higher than he'd like it to be.

"Lights out sunshine." The ape grinned.

"I'd just like to point out that at the current moment it's actually not very light so-" But then punch to the side of his head cut him off.


End file.
